The two rascals have stepped into the domain of a notorious criminal mastermind. Well, they never really left it, for she owned all of bully harbor. The rich paid into her racket, the merchants had to give up their wares to her highwaybeasts, the fogeys took out her competition, and the governing beasts were all in their positions to serve one person, Irene. Irene Lishchescu, or Irene Royalor, or Irene Furotazian, definitely not some sluppy name like Irene Rightsbeast. The most common saying, inifinitely more common than any other in the city, said like a prayer or a mantra but also like a fact that it was, was "Give onto Irene which is Irene's".
"And, every, thin', belongs, to, meeeee!!!!"
That was all in the ever creative and ever mischievous mind of the 16-year-old vixen, who was pulled out of her wonderful daydream by the sound of her own overexcited voice. Being so suddenly pulled out of her utopian dreamland, for Irene at least, and into the cruel miserable world was a shock, and brought her spirits down even lower than they usually were. There is something to be said for Irene's show of excitement at her own fantacies being the thing that made her so aware and saddened by reality. Like many things throughout her life she brought it on herself and did so without any hesitation, without once thinking of restraint. Somebeast would go as far as to say that Irene Rightsbeast's crime and punishment is being Irene Rightsbeast. But I disagree with this statement. Mostly because it's utterly nonsensical. It's not a crime to be named Irene Rightsbeast. It's a crime to steal, cheat, extort, blackmail, and Irene does plenty of those, but those things isn't what it means to be Irene Rightsbeast. If it were, many imperium officials and beasts of high standing could call themselves Irene Rightsbeast which is utterly absurd. Only one who can call themselves Irene Rightsbeast is a kit of a Rightsbeast who named them Irene, or any beast who later adopted the same name, and that name hardly means a thing. But we aren't talking about the name "Irene Rightsbeast" here are we? We are talking about a vulpine juvenile deliquent, whatever in the forests above hellgates those three words mean, who actively despises and rejects her last name, is struggling to find food, drink and gilders. Despite her best attempts she had spent or lost everything she earned last week, and this one she couldn't snatch enough things to earn her living. Thus she had to resort to selling her own things again. The next belonging she would have to part ways with forever was a fox doll, wearing a torn and discolored captain's uniform, its cloth fur torn like scars and half of its toeclaws fallen out. It limply brandished its prosthetic paw, the stiff dark piece of wood sunken into the sleeve could only appear like iron to a kittish imaginative mind. It's head was the most disfigured, one of the ears had to be stitched back on and looked like it was going to fall off if one touched it too hard, the snout would shake if the doll was carried, and one of the eyes sank a little lower. The expression on its face remained, that sly confident grin, the face that dared the world to bring on the worst it got. No wonder the fox liked it so much, and had kept it with her for months until she could no more.
"STOP! THIEVES!"
Instinctively Irene's ears perked up. It wasn't about her, it was too far away, and no fogey was drunk enough to see two Irenes where there was only one. But she still needed to be careful. She can't get all her things taken from her, it was bad enough as it is. In fact, she needed to make the most out of this situation as she could.
She poked her head out of the...sixth? seventh? eighth? who knewth? iteration of her den, a tool shead that didn't seem to belong to anyone and was sandwiched between two bigger and equally condemned buildings. Irene was certain it didn't belong to her legally, but when did that ever stop her?
She saw two beasts. Adults, but by this point she knew that adults could be naughty and mischievous just like her, and these ones weren't so big or important to be a danger to her. The stoat and ferret were running as fast as their little legs would carry them and their bags away from the direction she heard the cry, and she made an educated guess that they were the thieves in question. Not to imply that Irene had any education in police work or thievery, but her experience made up for the lack of it.
"Heeeea, looks la'ik ya both need some help, a sha'inin' gilda or a helpin' paw is all ya need to get 't from me"
She opened her door a little wider and stepped outside, blocking their way. As it was that the best way to not get noticed was to stay out the way of other beasts, so was the best way to be noticed to stand in their path and force them to acknowledge your presence.
